


synaptic

by multijoy



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Altered Mental States, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Assassins & Hitmen, Brainwashing, Dark coffee shop au, Experiments, F/M, Government Conspiracy, Government Experimentation, Human Experimentation, Kylo Ren is Not Nice, MK Ultra, Memory Loss, Mind Control, Mind Fuck, Murder, Non-Consensual Electroconvulsive Therapy, Power Imbalance, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rey Needs A Hug, Unethical Experimentation, Unethical Medicine, darkcoffeereylo, darkfic clan, government agency tries to create a human killing machine, ill add more tags later, part of my initiation to the
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-06
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-08-19 15:15:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16537061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/multijoy/pseuds/multijoy
Summary: there are so many things rey cannot remember, but that doesn't mean her problems are gonehe never lets her get too far.





	synaptic

**Author's Note:**

> oh dear god hello... 
> 
> been reading too many MK Ultra reports online, and i do love conspiracies... so here ya go
> 
> rey's stream of consciousness is really hard to write but i'm trying my best :))

When her alarm clock rouses her awake, Rey can already tell it’s going to be a boiling hot day. Sun streams in through her window, falling on her legs that kicked off a blanket during the night. She lays there for a few minutes, stares at the speckled ceiling, then promptly rolls out of bed. 

 

She forces herself to make the bed, an attempt at doing something. Rey gets tired again, and sits in the middle of the mattress, ruining the small act of effort. Dust skitters in the light strewn on the floor of her apartment, probably the most beautiful thing she’s seen this week. The city is so loud, but her apartment is so quiet, she can barely hear the sound of outside life as she watches the dust float. 

 

“Get up,” she reminds herself, since it’s almost 8:00 and she has to be at work at 9:00. “I don’t wanna.” 

 

Breakfast is toast, and some tea- since coffee is too bitter and makes her skin crawl. She sits criss cross on the floor and balances the toast on her knees while she reads a book, something she checked out from the library but never returned.  _ Traumatic Brain Injuries _ , she dog-ears a page.  _ Memory loss. _

 

After a few moments, she uncurls on the hardwood floor and crawls to put the book back near the window. The sun catches her cheek, and she has to close her eyes and soak it in once more. She can’t get enough warmth, her fingers and toes are cold, but her forehead is sweaty, her joints ache, in fact, nothing ever feels right. 

 

Time to get dressed, it’s a t-shirt and jeans, and Rey can’t forget the name-tag for work. She ties up her hair into a bun, and laces up some sneakers. She throws her ID, a $10 bill, and some travel book about  _ California  _ into a backpack, and is soon locking the door behind her. 

 

Even though it’s relatively early on a Sunday morning, the streets of Brooklyn are still packed with commuters and dog walkers trying to beat the heat. Several blocks down, Rey parts from the crowd and heads down a small side street with familiar little brick storefronts and flower pots. Through a particular front window, she spots Poe, her boss, behind the counter inside of the café, prepping for all the coffee-making and bagel-toasting Brooklyn could ever want. 

 

The bell above the door gives a cute little chime when she pushes the glass door, and Poe greets her with a big grin.

 

“Morning Rey, sleep well?” he asks, slapping a dish rag over his shoulder. She smiles in the wake of his never ending energy, something that she secretly looks forward to the most every day. There’s something invaluable about absorbing his happiness that she cannot gain alone in the apartment. Much different than the warmth of the sun.

 

“Eh,” she grunts, and goes to set her backpack behind the counter. “The usual, how ‘bout you?” The tip jar is slightly off center, so Rey rearranges it back next to the cash register neatly, waiting for Poe to say that he’s fantastic. 

 

“Oh, I’m fantastic,” he enthuses.

 

There’s not much to do while Poe runs around like a nut, so she leans against the counter and people watches. It’s so easy to make up a life story for the boujee moms toting their kids around to daycare, or the man smoking a cigarette alone. She briefly wonders if anyone does this to her, and if they would like to tell her what they theorize. She could be a struggling actor alone in the city, or a foreign exchange student from France.

 

The bell chimes again, and Rose bounds into the threshold, walking in her green bike. “Sorry, almost late,” she huffs, and pushes back her black hair that’s plastered to her forehead beneath the helmet. 

 

That means the city is coming alive with rising heat and movement, which  _ also _ means business is coming. Rey grabs a cup of ice, now presented with something do to, and fills it with water. Rose bikes uptown every day, rain or shine, so Rey admires her grit. 

 

“Nah, you’re good,” Poe calls, ever the easy going boss. After Rose has parked her bike in the corner of the café (Poe calls it added urban decor), Rey shoves the glass of water into her hands.

 

“Oh!” the ice clinks against the glass, but Rose is quick to begin downing the whole glass. Rey stands by while Rose gulps down the water, then presents her open palm for the empty glass once she's done. With a huge exhale, Rose plops the cup into Rey’s hand and touches her wrist softly. “Thanks, Rey.”

 

They both smile at each other, and Rey can see the laugh lines, the curve of her eyelashes, and little sun spots that she commits to memory. Everything about this life is precious, and Rey tries not to forget that.

 

She knows these people, she knows this street, her apartment, her name, how to make coffee, and various other things, but not stuff that really matters. Her driver’s license is from California but that just makes things more complicated. She’s sure that the safety she feels with her job and her apartment will be ruined if she tries to remember anything more, so she settles for that. 

 

Pretty soon, customers start rolling in for mid-morning coffee, and Poe must have clicked on the speakers, because the café comes alive with happy chords and drums. Lots of women with long, flowy dresses that look straight out of magazines sit and mingle with their friends, maybe talking about office drama or where they should get drinks next week. Rey tries not to eavesdrop, but listening gets her through the day. Just one tidbit of information won’t hurt anyone. 

 

The humid air invades the cafe as the day goes on, making Rey hot and tired. The hair that escaped from her bun curls across her forehead and behind her eyes, cheeks flushed under freckles. It is a pleasant enough day, no rude businessmen at least, and the constant stream of customers gives Rey something to do all day. 

 

Around mid-afternoon, Rey takes her break, leaning against the front counter with an iced tea. She presses the cold plastic of the cup against the inside of her wrists, her cheeks, neck, and her mind wanders to the quiet comfort of her room.

 

“No,” she reminds herself. She needs money for food and rent, she can sleep later. She tries not to focus on the downward pull of her eyelids, and blinks rapidly. “Get it together.” She begins to people watch again. 

 

Across the café, a dark haired man sits at a corner table with his backpack on an empty chair. He’s been there almost all day, ordering coffee after coffee. Rey has walked by and picked up his empty cup almost 3 times, and she thinks that can’t possibly be good for anyone. His black shirt is buttoned up to the neck, complete with shiny black shoes that peek out from under the table. “He looks more like a starbucks guy,” Rose muses during her break, and Rey can’t help but agree. 

 

The most important rule is to not blatantly stare, but his persistent presence is unavoidable in the small café amidst the usuals. He barely moves as the hours pass, the only noticeable movement is his fingers typing away on an Apple laptop. Stealing a few glances is a safe game, but trying to get a comprehensive read of this man would require playing a risky game. To make matters more complicated, his glasses reflect the light streaming from the adjacent window, which makes it extremely difficult to know where his eyes could be looking in the next few seconds.  

 

Ultimately, it’s not worth it, and at least he’s buying coffee. Tomorrow, all the high school kids will flood in at 3:00, which is more than enough people to watch for Rey. She’ll go home, get sleep, and repeat. Get a new book, try to fill her brain with enough of something, in hopes that she will remember a slip of a memory within the fog. 

 

Hours later, Rey face-plants into her mattress, breathing in nothing but the scent of the laundry detergent. The apartment is totally dark, apart from the street lights that shine in from the window. It’s late, but early for New York, and the evidence of life is still strong. The upstairs neighbors thump on the ground, taxis honk, and her neighbor flushes their toilet. With her shoes still on, Rey’s breathing begins to lull her into a deep sleep, and she becomes dead to New York. 

 

_ There’s footsteps. Heavy. She will do anything, just please don’t let him come back. _

 

_ She opens an eye, sees the metal door-frame lit by the fluorescents above. She can’t move her wrists. She closes her eyes again, and listens to the footsteps.  _

 

_ She licks her lips, they’re cracked and bitten, salty with blood and sweat. Bile rises in the back of her throat as the door slides open, his heavy footsteps finally passing into the cursed threshold. What’s the fucking point anymore, no one’s coming to get her, she knows this- _

 

_ He doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t have to. There’s nothing more to threaten, nothing more to ask. Her brain is torn open and held in his hands. He communicates with pain, and she listens. There is nothing to do, except listen. _

 

_ God only knows what is pumping through the IV stuck in her arm, but it’s strong enough to make the outline of his body waver through her faltering vision. Her pupils are full blown, her body starts feeling funny. They always up the dosage when he comes in.  _

 

_ She feels his hand run through her hair, her short hair. They cut it a while ago, with medical scissors and she watched her long hair hit the tiled floor and she could only sit there and stare and cry and feel every horrible thing they did to break her.  _

 

_ She has no energy to jerk her head away this time as he attaches the electrodes to her temples, she has to conserve it for more important things. It’s useless to try and fight when she’s so weak, she’s nothing, she can’t run. They can find her, no matter where she goes.  _

 

_ The machine’s switch is flipped on, and her teeth clench almost to the point of breaking them into a billion tiny pieces. She’ll do anything they want, just don’t-  _

 

_ Her body becomes stiff, shaking in the chair. As every second passes, she thinks the pain can’t get worse, but it always does. Her cells are on fire, her eyes are melting, she’s dying, he’s in control. It is at this point that he starts talking.  _

 

_ Steady, deep, his voice becomes the only thing in her head aside from the buzzing. His words rush in with the pain, and there’s nothing to stop them from finding root deep inside her consciousness. His word is God, he can make the pain stop, he can make the pain come. She tries to dissociate from her body, float away to a mountain somewhere when it’s sunset and you can see the whole city from there-  _

 

_ She will do whatever they want.  _

 

In her Brooklyn apartment, Rey jolts back into consciousness. As soon as she becomes aware, the dream flits away like always. Her hazy mind tries to grasp onto any memory of the dream before she forgets it again, but every morning she can never remember in time, and wakes up with stiff muscles. Her alarm beeps, and sun shines in through the curtains, covering her body with warm rays. 

 

Rey can only lay there and stare at the wall, feeling the frustration well up inside her, all over a stupid dream she can’t even remember in the first place. Well, at least she doesn’t have work today. The library won’t be too busy today. She bought a new bag of bread yesterday. She looks at the dust inside the light. 

 

It’s so beautiful. 

  
  
  



End file.
